The Orchestra Murders, page 33
With all the Philadelphia media covering stories about Jonathan and Gregory, everyone now knew that the orchestra’s principal cellist, Noel Barron, had been a close friend of Jonathan’s for many years. Noel and Jonathan had often played concerts together as a duo, and Noel had soloed with orchestras all over the world before deciding the life of a soloist was too stressful, and agreeing to accept the highly coveted post as the orchestra’s principal cellist. Noel had hoped to see Jonathan and Gregory come back together, and was the first to suggest celebrating their reunion with the Brahms Concerto. At the time Cynthia had read the story months earlier, written by Jefferson Sadlers, it hadn’t meant much. Now, it meant everything. She knew for sure that either Noel or Jonathan, or both, would be on Jeff’s infamous ‘tag’ list.
The extraordinary symbolic gesture of programming Brahms’ Double Concerto was one part of the story Cynthia did recall reading. Karl had also commented to her about the fact that Johannes Brahms had composed the concerto in 1887 and presented it to his estranged friend, the violinist Joseph Joachim. Their long and deep friendship had blown apart when Joachim divorced his wife, and Brahms took her side in court. Writing the concerto for Joachim and the cellist Robert Hausmann was Brahms’ act of reconciliation. What a perfect way to commemorate the reconciliation between Gregory and Jonathan, and involving Jonathan’s close friend Noel.
Cynthia phoned Alice to find out where Noel lived and where Jonathan could be reached. She confirmed that Jonathan was still staying with his father in Symphony House. Calmly, she told Alice that she had questions for both of them. Alice did not ask for details, simply giving Cynthia Noel’s address and phone number, and telling her she believed Jonathan would be at Gregory’s apartment.
Noel lived in the Philadelphia suburb of Chestnut Hill with his wife Marilyn and three children. After Elaine’s murder, Cynthia wasn’t sure that any precautions would be enough. She was beginning to understand how Jeff’s mind worked. She knew that Jeff had been her attacker, and that he would not attempt to harm her at the moment. He would probably not do anything until the night of the concert. The rehearsals would be a dress rehearsal for Jeff to finalize his plan. He would probably allow them to play some, or all, of their concerto the night of the concert. Noel would be the first victim, followed by Jonathan, but she had no idea how Jeff would carry out his plan. Yet at this point, she still had no proof he had murdered any of the others. She would have to catch him in the act. Cynthia recognized what she was feeling - it was fear. Noel and Jonathan are numbers five and six. She believed that Gregory would be number seven, and Alice, number eight. Cynthia now confirmed to herself that she had to be number nine on Jeff’s list. She couldn’t guess who would be number ten, unless Jeff was planning to kill himself, or Debbie. No answer to that question yet.
If Jeff suspected he was being followed, he would find a way to commit the next two murders without leaving a trail. Like his peanut butter rosin, he would find a method that would not trace back to himself. Cynthia knew that he probably had complete access and knew every inch of the concert hall, and the backstage areas. She guessed that he had his own copy of the electronic key-card to the backstage rooms, although she didn’t know how he would have obtained it. Someone on the task force would have to find out whether musicians’ cards had been missing or stolen, and what pattern of activity had surrounded the theft, but that was not critical to the case at this point. All the cards were individualized, so security could tell who had gone through which door at any point, even in the areas not covered by security cameras.
In her years of solving high level murders, Cynthia had not dealt with anyone as smart or ruthless as Jeff Sadlers. Did his sweet-looking wife Debbie have a clue, or would she be as shocked as the rest of the world when the truth was finally known?
Cynthia had a couple of days before rehearsals for the next concert were due to start. It was 8 p.m. and she had barely seen Karl, or her beloved dog Pistol, for four days. She had crept into bed for only a few hours each night. She was on the phone to Karl immediately.
“Have you had dinner?”
“I was just about to cook something,” Karl replied.
“Don’t! We’re going out. This is my last night before all hell breaks loose, and we should make it a good one. Can you meet me at José’s?” she asked. It was the Mexican restaurant they both liked, and a favorite of hers because it was casual and inexpensive, with fabulous food. “Bring a bottle of wine - I don’t care which one,” she added.
Cynthia realized that she and Karl had not had dinner together in two weeks. He had been watched and protected by Andy, although Cynthia made certain it was not done in an intrusive way.
They had only made love once during that time, and she really missed Karl. This will be a good night, she thought. She could put everything out of her mind for one long evening. Tomorrow morning, she could set things in motion so that Jefferson Sadlers would fall into her well-planned trap.
An hour later she was having dinner with Karl, and remembering that they had a relationship. Their guard, Andy, was seated inconspicuously with a friend at another table. Karl had never made her feel guilty for her neglect. They held hands across the table. “I’m sorry I’ve been out so much,” Cynthia began. “This is probably the most complicated case we’ve ever had, and it’s about to reach its climax. I know you understand, but don’t think I’ve forgotten that you are pretty much ignored.”
“I knew about your job getting into this relationship,” Karl said. “I love you for the person you are, and I respect what you do. You never need to apologize to me.
“But I do need to ask you one question,” he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket, without Cynthia seeing it.
“Sure - anything. What is it, Karl?”
“Will you marry me?”
He placed the box in Cynthia’s hand, and she opened it, stunned. He must have had it for a while, waiting for the right moment, Cynthia thought - for any moment, actually, when they were together for more than 20 minutes on the run.
She was staring at a large, beautiful diamond, wondering how Karl had saved enough money to buy it.
“Are you sure our relationship really works for you, Karl - as in...forever? You deserve someone who can be there for you - more than I am. I love you, but I worry you won’t be happy.”
“Cynthia, ten minutes with you is worth more to me than endless weeks with anyone I’ve ever met. You are my life. Yes, I promise, I will be happy with you.” He took the ring and put it on her finger. It fit perfectly.
“Well, OK then. Yes. I say yes, with all my heart. When do you want to get married?”
“Now! As soon as this case is over, and before another one begins,” he said. And we’ll go away for two weeks whenever you can do it.”
They finished their dessert and went home. It was the longest uninterrupted evening they had spent in ages. They made love and fell asleep holding each other.
Cynthia woke up remembering that she now had a day, if her theory was correct, before she would be able to catch Jeff and save his next two victims - or, more accurately, his next five.
She made a pot of coffee and kissed Karl goodbye.
Chapter 42
The orchestra was tuning for the Brahms “Double” Concerto and the musicians seemed just a little more relaxed than usual, knowing that none of the murders had occurred during rehearsals. Cynthia would now have to attend every rehearsal for the weekend’s concerts. She looked at the ring on her finger, and was surprised that Karl had asked, and that she had so readily agreed. She had never imagined herself with a diamond on her finger. It looked like someone else’s hand, and she was momentarily startled, wondering whose hand was attached to her wrist. Do I ‘belong’ to Karl now? she asked herself.
She interrupted her thought process when she spotted Alice sitting in the first row. Cynthia walked to the front of the hall and sat down next to her. “Alice, we’re going to have a few officers here, just to keep an eye on things.”
The rehearsal would start with the Brahms Concerto for violin and cello. It was one of the big “warhorses” of the literature--a work that, according to Brahms fans, wasn’t played often enough. Most concertos showed off the virtuosity and artistry of one soloist, but in the case of the massive, passionate “Brahms Double,” two top virtuosos could shine without either one feeling they had compromised their solo role. For musicians like Noel and Jonathan, who loved playing together, it was the ideal work. The turbulent history of its composition made it more meaningful to everyone listening.
Sir Gregory was onstage, and began the rehearsal with a few of the more difficult passages that the orchestra needed to practice before the soloists arrived. He made it seem as though this was pre-arranged. In fact, the soloists should have been there, but were a few minutes late and backstage getting ready. Gregory saw them, motioned to them with his left hand to come onstage, while continuing to conduct with his right hand. He stopped the orchestra - the passage he was rehearsing needed less attention than he had thought.
The orchestra applauded their entrance. Noel’s associate was seated in the first chair for the concerto. A riser was set up at the front of the stage, positioned so that Gregory could communicate with Noel and Jonathan--Noel seated on the riser and Jonathan standing beside the riser, as was the custom.
They checked their tuning, finding the orchestra’s “A” and each matching their own to it perfectly. Jonathan and Noel smiled at each other. It had been too long since their last performance together, and many years since Gregory had been onstage with both of them. Jonathan felt better about this than he had felt about the Mendelssohn Concerto. He did not intend to give in to distraction. Noel’s presence seemed like a guarantee of security. Before playing, they took a few minutes to have the stage lights adjusted. The lighting engineer thought it best to lower the overhead canopy that contained the lights by about two feet. When he and his assistant were satisfied, and the soloists agreed with his assessment, Gregory lifted his baton and signaled the start of the first movement.
Cynthia looked quickly around the hall to see if she could spot Jeff. He would not miss this rehearsal. Sure enough, he had slipped into an aisle seat, fifth row, directly in line with the soloists. He wouldn’t just pull out a gun and shoot them, would he? And then himself? No, too simple. And he would only get to number seven if he did that! She was alarmed that he had slipped in at the last minute without her noticing, but glad to see that Johnson had noticed and was two rows behind him, a few seats in, watching Jeff closely.
This rehearsal could have been any one of a thousand. The conductor stopped occasionally to make comments and corrections. The soloists spoke to each other, trying a few sections of the music a second time. Jonathan spoke to his father about a phrase where he felt the orchestra was too loud and another where the orchestra was too slow. They tried both phrases over again, with better results the second time. A nod from Gregory that his son’s judgment had been perfect. And nothing to make anyone feel nervous at all.
Jeff was looking at his watch, and taking some notes. They might have been musical notes, for his own reference, but Cynthia knew he was planning something. She would casually speak with him when the rehearsal was over.
After the Brahms, the orchestra had a 20-minute break before they were to rehearse the Prokofiev symphony. Cynthia went over to Jeff, acting pleased to find him there. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“Much better. Thank you for asking,” he replied. “Are you still working on the murders? Any leads yet?”
“Nothing very solid,” Cynthia said. “Any new theories of your own?” she asked lightly, as if it were a subject much less serious than multiple murders.
“Theories?” Jeff said. “Nothing that would be particularly helpful to you. But good luck with your investigation.”
“I’ll need a lot more than luck to crack this case,” Cynthia replied.
Jeff smiled. He liked her reply. He believed she didn’t have a clue who the murderer might be. “If I think of anything, you’ll be the first to know,” he said.
“Thanks,” Cynthia said, walking up the aisle to a spot where Johnson was now standing.
“Don’t let him out of your sight,” she whispered. “It won’t be today, but there may be clues.”
“Right. I thought I should follow him home and see if he stops off anywhere, picks up any clamps,” Johnson said, as if it were a joke, then realizing it wasn’t a good one.
The rehearsal seemed interminable to Cynthia, and she sensed a lot of tension among the officers in the auditorium. There was little they could do besides watch, and anything could happen to the musicians, who were virtually unprotected. This didn’t worry Cynthia. Jeff was not going to target anyone other than the soloists at the moment. Once he was finished with them, he would move on to his next victims. It was Cynthia’s job to make certain he did not have that chance.
The rehearsal was over, and Cynthia felt it was time to warn Noel and Jonathan. They had been backstage practicing together, and came onstage quickly when they were told that Cynthia needed to speak with them. Not to have them panic - just to be alert, she reminded herself. “Gentlemen, I want you both to be vigilant. If you see anything out of the ordinary - anything that concerns you at all - here’s my card. Call me on my cell phone anytime - day or night.”
“Wait a minute.” Jonathan said, taking her arm gently as she turned to leave. “Are you saying we might be targeted?”
“Not specifically,” she lied. “It could be any of the musicians, as you know, but you are featured and that in itself could make you a target. We’re watching and protecting you, but I’m asking you to keep your eyes and ears open. Don’t take anything for granted. No dark alleys at midnight.” She tossed off the line as though it was a joke, and Jonathan laughed. “Not a joke,” she added.
“I can’t say that’s very reassuring,” Noel said. “Is my family in danger?”
“In my assessment, no,” she said. “We have an officer watching outside your home. We hope to have this case solved soon. We are working on some leads that I can’t disclose at the moment.”
The orchestra had left the stage, and only Cynthia, Gregory, Jonathan and Noel remained. They were just a few feet away from the riser on which they had been rehearsing when they heard a creaking sound and then a snap. Noel looked up and screamed, “Out of the way!” pulling the group back. The smallest of the three wooden canopies had come loose. The right side was hanging lower than the left side, swinging up and down, suspended by one cable instead of two. Three stagehands rushed to the edge of the stage, ready for action, but powerless to stop the canopy as it slowly tipped toward the stage.
After a few seconds, the entire structure crashed directly onto the riser, smashing it and the cellist’s chair into a thousand pieces, and turning the conductor’s podium and musicians chairs into a pile of rubble. Cynthia knew it was no accident, but how had Jeff set it up? And was it supposed to have happened earlier, during the rehearsal, or was it just to scare everyone? Cynthia believed Jeff wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble just for show. It was an error of timing. Now her theory about the rehearsals being safe was blown. What will he do instead?
Jeff was the first to race toward the stage. “What happened? Is everybody okay?” He sounded so sincere it made Cynthia feel ill. They nodded. More people gathered on the stage. Daniel came up, quickly followed by Alice. Cynthia could see that something good was going on between the two. No longer strictly professional. Cynthia felt relieved that Alice finally had some companionship.
“Well, I would suggest calling the police,” Sir Gregory said wryly, “but that hardly seems necessary,” he added, looking around the hall as several officers swarmed the stage, all looking up to see the origin of the lighting system. Nobody was on the catwalk above the canopies. The electronics had to be operated from the wings, but something must have been loosened from above.
Cynthia looked at Jeff, noticing that at the same moment he was staring at her. Her heart skipped a beat. He knew that she knew. Not good, Cynthia thought. This could only complicate things. He was walking up the side steps onto the stage.
“Unbelievable,” Jeff said. He was still looking at her. She felt his attack again, in his presence and in his cold stare. Their eyes locked, confirming this was far from over. They both said it without words. It was a fight to the death.
Jeff broke the silence. “How could such a thing have happened? Surely an expert such as you can figure this out,” he said. Cynthia heard a taunting edge just beneath the surface. She was normally good at remaining detached, objective. She was masterful about understanding the criminal mind without connecting to the emotional power of it. For the first time, she despised Jefferson Sadlers.
“Not everything is intentional, Jeff,” Cynthia replied deliberately. “This is definitely an accident. Perhaps the lighting mechanism hasn’t been maintained properly. I’ll have a word with Alice and find out when it was last checked from the catwalk.” She spoke calmly and hoped that Jeff might believe her, might return to thinking she didn’t know.
“Good point,” he responded. “It’s easy to become paranoid with all that’s been going on.”
‘You mean all the murders you’ve committed,’ she thought.
